


Catch Me

by Ursula



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursula/pseuds/Ursula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slash, Elizabeth and Peter separate for this story. Character death<br/>Peter held on as long as he could, until Neal reached for Kate too. It was Kate who looked up and Kate who let go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catch Me

Title: Catch Me

Author: Ursula  
Rating: rating: NC-17 or FRAO  
Genre and/or Pairing: Peter/Neal  
Notes: Neal needs to be caught as long as Peter does the catching.  
Spoilers: Spoilers up to Free Fall  
Warnings: Slash, Elizabeth and Peter separate for this story. Character death  
Summary: Peter held on as long as he could, until Neal reached for Kate too. It was Kate who looked up and Kate who let go.

Disclaimer: White Collar belongs to Jeff Eastin and USA. No profits made from this.

 

OooOooO

"I hate you," Neal railed; Peter caught his fist, held it, contained it, and twisted Neal to one side, holding him.

"Kate would not betray me," Neal said. "You betrayed me. It was you. You held her hostage. You made her ask me all those questions. You want to put me in prison for life."

"If I wanted you in prison, you could be there for four more years," Peter replied.

"You want the money," Neal said.

"Would you have given me money if I needed it?" Peter said.

Neal slackened, not fighting Peter, "Of course, I would, but you..." His face fell. "You don't want my money."

"No," Peter said, tenderly. "No, I don't."

"You want me," Neal said confused, alone, bereft.

"Yeah, I want you," Peter admitted. "I can have that too if I ask, can't I?"

"I love Kate," Neal said as if the mantra would protect him.

"I love El," Peter said. "That doesn't stop me from loving you so much I can't think of anything else."

"Everyone loves El," Neal said.

"I'll set up a meeting," Peter said. "Give me this much. You stay out of sight and just listen for a while."

"I won't betray her," Neal said.

"Just listen," Peter admonished. He pulled Neal closer, held him.

After a moment, Neal clung to Peter, wary, weary, and as strung out on Kate as a junkie on smack.

OooOooO

Kate's new apartment was in a high rise along the edge of East River. It was a security building, but Neal had no trouble gaining access. Peter looked around. Most of Kate's belongings were still in boxes. Neal hid in the closet. Peter moved a chair over so that Kate would not glance toward the barely open door but towards him.

"Agent Burke, isn't breaking and entering illegal?" Kate said.

"Perhaps," Peter said. "Kate, I can get you what you want. Neal will tell me."

"Oh, oh, of course, he will," Kate said. "He's playing you like he played Moz and me, the way he plays everyone."

"Neal held out on you, but he loves you," Peter said.

"He thinks he loves me," Kate said. She walked over to the mirror hung over a decorative table. "He wants me to be what the mirror sees. I thought I could do it. Be his great love, his one and only, but I don't want the part after all. It's just too much."

"What do you want, Kate?" Peter asked gently.

"To have money," Kate said. "To be done with running and hiding. To be done with the bullshit. Neal is so full of shit. He can't stop. He says, he promises, that he will take care of me, but it's one thing after the other. Moz needs him. Some girl needs him. Some guy needs him. He's always needing center stage and I am so tired. I can't be what he wants. I can't."

"He wants to love you," Peter said.

"Why don't you love him?" Kate said.

"I do," Peter admitted. "I care about him."

"At first, I didn't care that he was bi," Kate said. "Then I started to get it, that he was always going to need something I could not give him. That he was always going to want to be someone's boy. It bothered me."

"He was faithful," Peter said. "He is faithful."

"That's not the point; the point is that I'm always thinking about it," Kate said. "And then there's Moz. How do you think I feel when Moz is always creeping around Neal, moping over him, yearning, needing him? I hate Moz."

"I like Moz," Peter said. "He loves Neal."

"So let Moz have him. You can have him," Kate said. The table had a small drawer. Kate had been playing with her hair and Peter was lulled by the conversation. He thought she was reaching for a hairbrush. She seemed so casual that for a moment Peter could not comprehend the gun in her hand.

"Neal, you can come out of the damn closet," Kate said. She paused and then laughed. "Come out of the closet. That's about the heart of the matter, isn't it?"

When Neal didn't respond, Kate clicked the safety off. Peter startled at the sound. As many years as he had done this, that was still a sound that punched him in the gut. "You want your FBI agent without big bloody holes in him? Come out, Neal."

The door opened and Neal emerged, his eyes going to the gun, his face going pale. "Kate, put the gun down. Peter isn't going to hurt you."

"Must you be so dense?" Kate said. "I am going to hurt Peter. It's what I do. When we met, the guy I shot. It wasn't rape, you idiot. It was a sting gone wrong. Yes, I was hysterical, not because it was the first time I shot someone. It was the first time I couldn't figure out a way to cover for myself. I needed you then and I thought you were really something. You disappoint me, Neal."

"Kate, you're just confused," Neal said. "I'll cut my anklet. We can get away."

"I'll go with you," Kate said, her eyes flickered back to Peter, "But not with him chasing you."

"When he's dead, maybe we can get away," Kate said.

"I..." Neal said. "Kate, we can't do that."

"It has to be done," Kate said. "He won't stop. You know that. I know that. He knows that."

"Kate," Neal said, "Give me the gun. Peter doesn't want to be shot. He'll cooperate."

"No," Kate said, the gun swiveling between the two of them.

Peter said a silent prayer as Neal took a step toward Kate, his hand breaching the space between them. The hand seemed frozen in time, Neal's slender, elegant hand reaching out hopefully.

Hope dashed. Kate raised the gun to shoot Neal and Peter tackled her. Her reflexes weren't sharp, a second rate criminal. The gun flew through the air and landed at Neal's feet. He scooped it up, holding it limply.

"Shoot him," Kate screamed. "Shoot him."

Shaking his head, Neal said, "Kate. Kate."

When Kate lunged for the gun, Neal stepped back, dodged her. "Go, just go. Get out of here."

"I need the gun," Kate said. "Neal, if you love me..."

Peter could see the shock and hurt in Neal's eyes. He shook his head. He said, "I'll get you money. You can have the money."

"And what? You want me in prison? Ask Peter if he'll let me go."

Neal shook his head.

Seductive now, Kate said, "Give me the gun. Give me the gun, baby. I love you. I need you."

Peter realized that with every step away, Neal was coming nearer him. He was reasonably sure that Neal was not aware of what he was doing. Kate was. She watched, angling toward Neal, but she was fearful of the gun.

Neal glanced toward Peter helplessly, hopelessly. Peter met his gaze, tried to promised with his eyes that he would not hurt Kate if at all possible. He would not ask Neal for the gun. He could not.

The gun still loosely held, Neal yielded it to Peter. His breath sighed out and he hung his head.

Kate was out the door. Peter could not help chasing her. It was his nature.

She fled upwards. It made no sense, but chances were that people will do that.

On the roof, Kate fled to the edge of the roof, studying the leap to the next roof. Neal could have done it. Peter with his long legs and strength might have considered following. Kate should not have tried. Peter was in the lead and he was the one who caught Kate's hand as she hesitated and as she slipped anyway. She clung to Peter, flailing, caught her other hand on the ledge.

The ring, the stupid ring that Peter had found in Kate's dresser when he tracked her down, slipped from his finger. Peter changed his grip and said, "Come on, Kate, hang on to me. We can get you up. Just help me a little."

"Peter, don't let her fall,"

Peter heard Neal's voice, hushed, scared to death, but trusting him and for that, Peter would never let Kate go even if it tore every muscle in his arm to keep her safe.

Neal sidled in, warm against Peter, and leaned way over the edge to grab at Kate.

dfsa

"That's it," Peter said. "There we go. Come on, Kate, it will be all right. For Neal's sake, what happened here goes nowhere. I'll let you go. Hell, he can go with you if that's what he needs to do."

So blue, as blue as Neal's eyes. They were a darling pair, both so beautiful. Peter said, "I'm going to get a better grip, Neal, so I can pull her up. Okay?"

Neal's eyes turned to Peter and Peter smiled at him. Neal's look was one of faith and even of perfect love at that point.

That may have been why Kate did it. Why she let go, kicked away and fell, fell, flailing as if her thin arms could be feathered wings, spinning out of control, her scream as silent as Neal's.

Peter had to catch his partner, pull him back, hold him from the edge. Hold him while Neal hit him, cursed him, screamed at him like an eagle mourning his mate.

OooOooO

Moz had insisted on going home despite having finished too much of a bottle of gin. His shoulders were slumped as he walked out the door. Peter was not sure how Moz had felt about Kate. He knew Moz loved Neal.

"You shouldn't have chased her," Neal said from his bed, where he huddled in his sorrow.

Peter sat on the bed. He said, "I know that now."

"I might as well as have killed her," Neal said. "I chose you over her. She was right. I wasn't good for her."

Moving closer, Peter didn't try to say Kate did not love Neal. Instead, he said, "I love you, Neal."

Neal shook his head.

"I love you," Peter said again. "I know you don't want to hear that."

Now Neal met Peter's eyes. "You're just trying to lessen the suicide risk."

"Is there one?" Peter asked steadily.

"No," Neal said, finally. "No."

"Can I touch you?" Peter asked.

Neal just stared at him so Peter moved closer toward the stack of pillows in which Neal languished. He slid his arm around Neal's shoulders, edged him over in the bed. He was right. It was the correct move. Neal's horrible tension, muscle fighting bone, eased.

Peter let his breath out, not realizing he had been holding it. Neal turned slowly until he could see Peter's face. Whatever he saw there, the love Peter tried to show him when he had been hiding it for so long, made him lean into Peter, rest in his arms.

Neal was shirtless, wearing his sleep pants, some designer version of sweats that dipped below the tight smile of his navel. Peter could have slipped his hand beneath the material, wanted to do so badly. Peter let his hand go where it willed. He shivered as his fingers found the curls, as Neal's cock twitched at his touch.

"How is this going to work?" Neal asked.

"Like something neither one of us want to resist," Peter said.

Neal turned toward him. Peter tugged down the pants, leaving Neal naked. He stood up to remove his own clothing. Neal had covered his face with a hand; his knee was raised as if defensively. At the moment, Peter would have had such a difficult time hearing 'no'. He hated himself for that.

Neal didn't say 'no'. He opened his arms to Peter when Peter knelt on the bed.

Kissing Neal was so simple. Like breathing or not breathing. Peter had no doubt that he knew how to kiss. He might not know how to flirt, but he knew what to do once there was no reason to flirt.

Wrapped around him tightly, Neal was shaking slightly. Peter's hand went up and down Neal's back, soothing him. "We don't have to do this if you don't want."

"I want," Neal admitted. "I want too much and she's not buried yet."

"Neither are we," Peter whispered.

They did not speak of Elizabeth.

Peter knew what he wanted to do, had wanted since early in the chase that led to this, to his presence in Neal's bed, to Neal's captivity in his hands, to his equal imprisonment in Neal's spell.

"I want," Peter said, thickly, his voice full of all the currents of lust, of need, and of something more, his affection for Neal, his protectiveness, and all the way back to desire.

Neal reached into the drawer of the bed table. He produced lube but no condoms. "I haven't had any reason for protection," Neal admitted, his face coloring. "I was faithful." Neal sighed. "Just myself for company."

"We're clean," Peter said. He knew the results of Neal's tests. He had brought Neal to the clinic for testing when Neal asked, soon after Peter came back from vacation. He had not demanded the reason for the procedure. All he had been able to do was to pat Neal's back, Peter's eyes blinking and his mouth unable to ask the question tearing through his heart. He had not asked to see the results of that test or the one more recently, but Neal showed him anyway.

Neal put the lube in Peter's hand and turned away from him, raised his leg, the one with the monitor.

Neal's back tapered to his full ass. Peter always wondered about that, the round cheeks bloomed beautifully beneath the slender waist, the narrow hips. He bent, kissing the dip above the ass, licking up the drop of sweat that had collected there. Putting some lube in his hand, Peter tried to warm it. He worked a finger inside Neal, froze when he felt a certain roughness.

"It's okay," Neal said. "Don't think about it."

Peter couldn't help thinking about it. He felt responsible. In another world, he might have seduced Neal, ran off with him before he had pinned his life on the illusion of Kate. He kissed Neal's back again, so tender.

Wanting, hard, yearning, Peter would not hurry this. One finger explored carefully, hooked until Neal gasped and moaned. Two fingers, in, out, widening, and then three, the lube slippery, Neal moved with the rhythm.

Neal turned when Peter withdrew his fingers. "Like this," Neal said, "Just like this."

Peter knelt on the bed between Neal's legs, his eyes took in all of Neal's beauty, this lovely and desirable creature that belonged to him. His hands slid over Neal's legs. Neal decisively hooked his legs over Peter's shoulders, pulling him closer.

Deep breath as Peter guided his cock through the resistance. He saw Neal's erection flag as he seated himself inside. He arched to find Neal's mouth, kissing the discomfort away. Pulling away from the kiss, Peter held back, stroking Neal, playing with him until Neal pushed back against him, spurring him on.

Neal's face was turned away, his eyes closed, his lashes wet looking. Peter didn't want it. He needed to know that Neal saw him, felt him, was thinking only of him.

Peter's body wanted what it had, the tension leading to release. Peter's heart wanted to love Neal. The wild man he could no longer control wanted to have Neal, to take him away from all he knew before Peter, to own him in no metaphorical sense, but to possess all that was Neal.

"Neal," Peter said, his voice unrecognizable even to himself. "Neal, look at me."

"I want to forget," Neal said plaintively.

"I want you to remember that is me," Peter told his lover.

"I will," Neal said. He reached for Peter, his hand cupping Peter's face. "Love me, Peter. Will you love me?"

"I love you," Peter said. "I think I always have."

Neal moved against Peter. "Love me."

Peter understanding let himself go, trusted in himself not to hurt Neal, trusted that he could give Neal everything he needed. He wanted Neal with his heart, his body, his soul. It was all that he knew at the moment, that it was Neal he was taking, whose body bent beneath him, who gazed at him with such adoration, in whose body he was coming, his senses exploding, his body releasing from its tightly strung tension.

Neal came with one final touch, one long stroke and Peter took that as well. Peter knew what he wanted, that he wanted Neal's absolute devotion and love even if Peter could only give part of his. Selfish, yes...necessary, yes.

"I'll stay with you tonight," Peter said. "I'll stay with you as often as I can."

Neal took Peter's hand kissed it, drew it around him, a shield to the world of pain beyond this bed.

OooOooO

Beyond Neal's bed was a world that included El. El whom Peter still adored, still wanted, could not lie to.

Peter walked in the door, feeling like Rip Van Winkle, come home to a world that had changed beyond recognition, but he knew it was he that had changed. He was not longer honest, no longer faithful.

"I need to go to Neal," El said, "He won't know how to plan a funeral and he shouldn't be alone."

"El, I had sex with Neal," Peter said. He sat down at the table, his hands palm up in surrender.

In mid step, El stopped. She shook her head. "How could you?"

"How could I not?" I love him," Peter admitted. He felt as if he was before a judge, already convicted, ready for a death sentence.

"Get out," El said. "Get out, Peter. I can't bear to see you right now. Go take care of Neal and when Kate is buried, I'll tell you if I can live with this."

Grabbing a bag, Peter only packed a few essentials, his black suit, a work suit, his toiletries. He glanced back at El, knelt for a moment to embrace Satchmo.

"Don't hate Neal for it. I made the move."

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I've been steeling myself to hear you say it?"

"I still love you," Peter said.

"I know," El said. "Please give me time to deal with this. I thought I could, but it's harder than I expected. I'll tell you soon if..."

Peter understood, if she would have him back.

His grief burdened him. He knew how Neal felt as he walked out the door.

OooOooO

Neal looked a little startled as Peter walked in the door, carrying his suit bags and his duffel bag. "Peter?"

"Told El," Peter said, "She didn't take it well." He let the bags drop to the floor. "She told me to come here. I hope you want me to stay."

"We..." Neal started. He shook his head, pushed away the brochures he had been studying. "We've really made a mess of things. I should talk with her, tell her that it was a one time thing, that I made a mistake."

"Was it a mistake?" Peter said, feeling a dead spot growing exponentially in his heart. He met Neal's eyes, forcing them to his own.

Neal lowered his eyes, his hands formed trembling fists. "No. No, it wasn't."

Picking up his bags, Peter said, "I should hang up my suits."

"Here," Neal said, rising. "I'll do it."

The scene was bizarrely domestic, Neal smoothing Peter's suits onto hangers, finding a drawer for his underwear and tee shirts, making a place for his shaver, toothbrush, and mouthwash.

"Peter, you don't want to leave Elizabeth, do you?" Neal asked. "I don't want to hurt her."

"I already did hurt her," Peter said. "No, I don't want to leave her. I am a very selfish man. I want you both."

Neal's eyes lit for a moment. He asked, "Will she let you?"

As Neal put Peter's toothbrush beside his own, Peter moved forward, catching Neal against his body, marveling at how well Neal fit there, ass snugged to Peter's crotch, Peter's lips against Neal's neck. The way Neal took a quick breath helped heal Peter's pain.

"I don't know how this is going to work, but I need you," Peter said, one hand embracing Neal and the other caressing him. "I just know I need you."

 

OooOooO

Satchmo had been sitting at the door whining all day. El loves her dog, but it was intolerable. "Satchmo, it's not like we can't live without him. We live without him too much anyway."

El saw herself in the glass. She looked haggard. She looked like a grieving widow.

The problem was not that it was unexpected. The problem was how well she had prepared, for how long, and she should have done what she planned, which was give permission if it was hers to give. She was not a jealous woman. She was not the kind of vindictive bitch that could hate Neal, although she had not been prepared to like the man who kept Peter away from home constantly for nearly four years.

And then she met Neal, finding him nothing like she expected. She took him into her heart, flirtatious friend, younger brother, something. Her husband's lover? She had prepared for that. Almost.

Somehow when El considered it, she had found the images enticing. She had thought of it as a way for Peter to strike out of his routine, reawaken the man she loved.

Loved...

Peter loved Neal.

El knew Neal now. She had been amused by him at first, presuming he was as fickle as he tried to pretend he was. That was before she saw his helpless devotion to Kate. Neal was all reflections that bedazzled but behind that, was the deep burning heart of a lover.

Neal would offer all of that to Peter now. He would give himself over to El's husband. How would Peter handle that?

It had always been El who was the sure one in her marriage. Sure that Peter was the man she wanted and sure they would be happy. She was right. Peter had been so relieved when she took the lead and took his stumbling words, making them a proposal.

In their marriage, there was a time when El wanted more than Peter would give, wanted him to put her first and the job second. She tried to renegotiate who they were, but Peter was immovable. His work was not a job. It was hobby, art, and his life. El made do with what was left and because Peter was worthy of love, it was enough.

To share Peter with Neal, that was going to be difficult unless Peter loved him enough to make that bitch of a job move over and come second to the man he loved and the wife he loved.

El called Satchmo to her on the couch, buried her face in the soft warmth of her dog and wept.

OooOooO

Hughes was grateful that Peter was taking the day off. The personnel department was sending memos about Peter's excessive leave time constantly.

"The sooner the woman is buried, the better. My sympathy to Caffrey, but he'll be the better man for it," Hughes said.

"Yes, sir," Peter answered. "The funeral will be Saturday."

"And that will be the end of her," Hughes said. "Take care of Mr. Caffrey, Peter."

The phone call ended. Peter put his cell phone away.

"The end of her," Neal said, shaking his head, "as if she was a case file to close and forget."

"He never knew her," Peter reminded.

"Neither did I," Neal said, his words sharp edged as if he could cut himself on them.

"We have to go pick a coffin," Peter said.

Neal's eyes widened to fill his face, to fill the room. He trembled.

"We can do this," Peter said. "Let's get it done."

OooOooO

At the funeral, Peter felt a moment of shock as Elizabeth, dressed in a dark charcoal dress, black heels, a single Tahitian pearl at her neck, entered the pew in front where Peter and Moz sat with Neal. There were few mourners and, sadly, the only ones truly here for Kate were Neal and Moz. The others, like June, Lauren, and Jones were here for Neal.

El moved to sit on Neal's other side. Neal slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers and what an act of courage that took. El reached over, took Neal's hand and held it tight.

Peter heard her whisper, "I'm still your friend. Are you still mine?"

Neal nodded and his fingers entwined with El's, knuckles white. He was going to leave bruises.

The coffin was white and covered with white roses. It was closed. What Neal had insisted on seeing afterwards was not fit to be viewed.

All the words in the world would not have put Kate to rest. Neal said Kate was not a believer. She had no faith.

So Neal chose Edna St. Vincent Millay's Dirge Without Music.

"I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.  
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:  
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned  
With lilies and with laurel they go but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.  
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.  
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,  
A formula, a phrase remains, but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,  
They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled  
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.  
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave  
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;  
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.  
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

It suited Neal more than Kate, but she was beautiful and she was loved even if her nature found that no comfort.

At the grave site, Neal stood between Peter and Elizabeth, both of their arms around him.

Peter met El's eyes once. She nodded slowly.

Time will heal, Peter thought. Time is the great healer.

They rode in the same car together, El back to the home Peter loved. She didn't kiss Peter but she did kiss Neal's cheek, and said, "We will work it out, Neal. Take care of him until we do."

Elizabeth said, "Satchmo misses you."

"El," Peter could not help saying. His wife...

He went home with Neal.

OooOooO

Neal feels as if he has somehow been encased in stone. Coming home from the funeral, he took off the suit he had worn, feeling like he would never care to wear it again. He put on jeans, a shirt. Peter sat at the table with some of his ale in his hand. He wasn't drinking much of it which was good. Peter sometimes drank too much when he was under stress.

Sitting down across from Peter, Neal stared at Peter, trying to put the image of Peter here in his home firmly in his mind. "When are you going home?" Neal asked.

"What?" Peter asked.

"Not that I didn't appreciate the company and all, but you have a home and a wife, not to mention a dog. Go home, Peter." Neal said. His throat started to close in a mortifying way. "It was distracting and you are a terrific lay, but enough is enough. I hate to think of poor Moz sleeping in his storage unit again."

Peter went a little red, and then he smiled and shook his head. "Wrong delivery, Neal. You should have practiced in front of a mirror. No, I am home, Neal. You're stuck with me."

"I don't want to hurt El," Neal said.

"You didn't, I did," Peter said. "I'm here with you and I am where I chose to be. My eyes were open, Neal. I could have comforted you without making love to you. I wanted you in the worst way...or maybe that's the best way. So you're stuck with me."

The sigh was heartfelt. Neal felt helpless and guilty. He tugged Peter up and said, "If you're staying, get comfortable. Let's get this suit off you."

Peter smiled at that. "Sounds good."

Fussing over Peter made Neal feel better. Peter pulled on his grubby sweats and sat back on the couch, the same bottle of ale on the table, but Peter wasn't drinking from it. Neal wanted peace and he wanted comfort. Grabbing a blanket off the foot of his bed, Neal took it to the couch. Peter spread it around both of them; Neal's legs over Peter's lap, his body twisted so he could lean into Peter's embrace.

The slow stroke of Peter's hand was an addiction. Neal didn't feel like crying. He still felt numb. He didn't want to sleep either. He kept seeing the shattered beauty of Kate in his head.

Peter had told him not to look and Neal ignored him. He had raced down the stairs, heart pounding with Peter at his heels. He had arrived at the alley between the buildings, stopped as his eyes started to take in what his head should have warned him he would see. She was splayed in all directions, a broken doll, her head twisted. There was nothing much left of her lovely face.

Kneeling, he had touched her, cringing away from the blood. Neal knew she was dead. He felt as if it was wrong not to reach for her while the warmth had not left her, when her soul might not have traveled beyond. He heard Peter calling for a crime scene team and an ambulance. Wanting to pass out, Neal had staggered away, leaned against the building to hold himself up.

Neal hardly remembered giving his statement or Peter taking him home. He did remember the precision and care Peter gave to undressing him. Hanging his suit and pants, brushing them down like a valet. Neal had stood unresponsive as Peter freed him from his clothing.

"You want a shower? Why don't you take a shower? Warm yourself up," Peter said. "You're very cold."

The heat of the water could not reach inside him. He could not scrub Kate's death away. He kept thinking that it was something about him. That if he was different Kate could have loved him.

Walking out of the shower, Neal had to factor something else into his calculations. What about him was such that Kate could not love him, but that Peter could?

When Peter reached for him, Neal hadn't even spared Elizabeth a thought. After all those long years and all these months of being faithful to Kate, he didn't even try to say 'no' to Peter. He should have...he could have...

And all in all, there was Peter and Peter loved him. Neal could not reject this miracle.

If Peter did what he should, Neal was not sure if he could take it. He might be a bad, wicked, heartless creature, but having had Peter, how could he give him up?

OooOooO

Peter's kiss on the top of Neal's head was pure affection. Neal twisted around to take the kiss upon his lips. Peter responded with such hunger that it would have been impossible to resist him if Neal tried. Hands flew over each other, stripping away not only clothing but resistance.

"I want," Neal said, sinking to his knees before Peter. "I want."

He wanted to make Peter shudder, shatter, forget everything. He wanted Peter's cock in his mouth. He wanted what was happening. Peter's face lost in pleasure. His hips thrusting with his need. He wanted to take Peter deep. He wanted to feel Peter's cum in his throat. Almost all he had to do was touch Peter, cup his balls gently in his hands for Peter to respond eagerly, filling, his legs splayed open for more.

Neal's laved Peter's cock with his tongue, sucked him hard. His hand surrounded Peter's erection, played over the heat, the pulsing hardness. His fingers followed the path of his mouth in counter point. Neal gazed up, fascinated by Peter's lust hazed expression. He moved faster, his wet finger stroked at Peter's pucker. He glanced upward to see how that was taken. Peter was almost off the couch, offering all of himself to Neal's mouth, his hands, anything that Neal wanted to offer. Peter was his.

Neal guided his finger inside and worked gently to find what he wanted. Peter moaned encouragingly and Neal was almost too excited to continue without reaching for himself. As Peter bucked into him, Neal knew it was time, no more play, he let Peter fuck his mouth. He heard Peter's voice harsh with passion, "Neal, suck me. Harder. Neal, please..."

Peter's hands grabbed Neal's head, something Neal normally didn't like, but it was Peter and Neal loved that Peter could not let him go. How like Peter that he must hold tighter, that he must capture and Peter was coming. Neal took the bitterness and made it sweet.

Still hard, Neal reached for himself. Peter took his wrists, pulled him up, kissed him deep, tongue decisively taking himself back from Neal.

Perfect.

"You," Peter said. "You come to bed. You take me. You fuck me."

It was caveman, but something different. Peter led Neal to the bed, opened the drawer, took out the lube, handed it to Neal. "Never let anyone do this to me. This is for you. This is for me."

Incredible, wonderful man. Neal's lover, his man. Never give him up. Never let him go. Captured. Loved.

"Peter, you need to be sure," Neal said softly, allowing his quarry a chance to escape.

There was a note of laughter in Peter's voice mingled with heat and a frisson of not quite fear but trepidation. "When have you known me not to be sure?"

So there was a smile on Neal's face as he put aside the lube to explore Peter with his tongue.

Peter had drawn up his leg, glancing over his shoulder with an uncertain expression. Neal could tell from the easy way that Peter had prepared him that Peter had fucked other men. He was sure from Peter's reactions and those few sentences that Peter had never done this before. It was overwhelming to be the one and Neal was sure that he was and would be the only one allowed to do this with Peter.

"I don't know if I really like that," Peter said as Neal tongued over his pucker.

"You will," Neal said, sure of himself.

Peter stirred uneasily, tensed then relaxed as Neal's tongue darted inside as his cock longed to follow. Neal wanted this to be perfect for Peter and himself. What a gorgeous gift, what trust to be offered this.

When Peter started to move gently with Neal's tongue, Neal generously lubed his fingers and inserted one. "Good? Okay?"

From his face down position, Peter said, "I'm not fragile and I do want this. I would not offer you anything I did not want to give."

"It's going to be right," Neal said. "This has to be perfect."

When it was time, it was perfect. Peter was hard again. He flagged when Neal breached his barriers, but then recovered, moaning blissfully.

There was always pain with the pleasure. There was always some fundamental wrongness that made this more right.

Neal was awed by his lover. Peter was strong, massive in bone and brawn. Shoulders that Neal had to kiss, shoulders to carry the world and the weight of Peter's need to care. Arms that could shove a perp into submission, raise a rifle or gun to fire, arms that could hold Neal with such tenderness. Neal wanted it to last, but he had hoped, he had waited, he had longed and denied this to himself even in his thoughts.

When they were moving together, when Peter's body was open to him, his cock leaping at Neal's touch, they soared together. They clashed against each other, they joined; they were made of pleasure and strength. When Peter came, Neal thrust rapidly, feeling Peter accept it. Neal felt his come inside Peter. He felt the utter trust that entailed and he knew. He knew that this was what should be. The world was wrong and this was right.

They were who they needed to be. Who they were meant to be.

 

OooOooO

Waking, Peter had that sense of disorientation. For ten years minus time on the road, minus too much time on the road, Peter had opened his eyes to his bedroom, El deep in slumber beside him. Now he woke in his lover's apartment to an empty bed. There was noise across the room. He blinked and saw Neal stirring something in a bowl. Neal in the kitchen was as graceful as he was every place else, competent and absorbed. His clever hands manipulated something. Peter squinted and saw they were mushrooms. Ham, really great smelling ham, sizzled in a pan.

The slight throbbing in Peter's ass didn't incline him to move. He was content to watch Neal in his mini kitchen. Neal was wearing a baggy white shirt. Peter realized after a moment it was his shirt. He was barefooted. His hair was still wet from the shower. Peter found a smile traveling from his heart to his face. He realized Neal was cooking him breakfast.

The omelet went into the oven a few moments later. Neal took out oranges and squeezed them using a hand juicer. The sharp, sweet tangy scent filled the room.

Nature called and Peter groaned as he got out of bed. It felt like a good kind of hurt despite the twinges that indicated that he had way too much fun last night. He was hungry, starved. Peter sniffed the air and asked, "Do I have time to shower."

"Yes," Neal said, coming over for a swift kiss and an appreciative stroke of his hand over Peter's morning stubble. "You are sexy in the morning."

"If you think so, it must be love," Peter remarked and watched the sun rise in Neal's face.

"It is love," Neal said. "What did you think?"

"That I am a lucky man," Peter said, softly, taking the hand and kissing it before going to put on his civilized face.

OooOooO

There was almost a physical sense of stuffing themselves into work skins. Putting on suits, Neal's casual adjustment of Peter's tie punctured the feeling of routine, but his smile as he posed in yet another fashionable suit was achingly familiar.  
Since Peter always picked up Neal in the morning, there was no problem with them arriving together or with coffee and lunch breaks in company. Peter hadn't paid attention before, but, damn, they did spend a lot of time together.

"Drivas is clever," Neal said with a little too much enthusiasm for the matter.

Peter caught Jones' smile, none too well hidden. He was aware Jones was waiting for his reaction and anticipating it with pleasure. Cruz had flash and style, but Jones was the one that Peter and Neal had to watch. Jones kept his mouth shut and his eyes and ears open. But then again, Jones had demonstrated that he had considerable more loyalty to Peter than he had to the agency. Maybe there was no fear even if Jones did figure it out.

"Remember we are trying to arrest this guy not start a fan club for him," Peter said.

"They're not contradictory. Hey, can I help it that I adore competent workmanship?" Neal said. "These antiquities belong where they can be appreciated, however. The one thing I would hate if I was an art thief is selling it to people who could not fully appreciate it."

Peter smirked at Neal. "So glad our crime finds one of your rare ethical qualms. So is Nicholas Haldane interested in buying some Greek antiquities?"

"I'll ask him," Neal said. "I'm going to need to stay at the Hilton. It's Nick's kind of place."

"I'll ask for an allowance," Peter said.

"I need new clothes," Neal said with a charming smile.

"Oh good god," Peter said genuinely.

"An entire new wardrobe," Neal said. "There's nothing in my range so you will have to take me shopping."

Neal beamed.

Peter cringed.

OooOooO

Four hours of shopping later, Peter felt the glow was gone. Not really, but it was shaded at least. He cringed at the amount of money Neal had spent although it wasn't bureau money. Peter tried to tell himself that it really made sense to allow Neal to spend his ill gotten gains on bureau business. Although Neal looked fantastic in the clothing he had chosen, even before alterations.

Peter also liked that Neal seemed happy, not inwardly focused as he seemed to be whenever Peter was not touching him, talking directly to him. Getting back to work was a good idea for both of them even if it meant all this expensive clothing.

The clothing would be delivered to Haldane's suite at the Hilton.

"I'm going undercover with you," Peter said.

"As what?" Neal said. "Peter, we talked about this. You can't let yourself become overly protective. You can't let them see anything has changed."

"I know that," Peter said. "Don't you think I'm the master of not showing my feelings? Ask El." The last had bitterness he was trying not to feel. "I'm going under as your security guard. Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I like that," Neal said. "You need some clothes too. Maybe not Versace, but a step up from what you have on."

"Oh, God help me," Peter said.

"Look, I'm bringing you back to faith," Neal said, endearingly chipper.

Which made Peter grin and roll his eyes at the same time.

OooOooO

Watching Peter used to be a guilty obsession. Neal used to tell Kate and Moz that knowing your opponent was part of winning the match. He had never been able to think of Peter Burke as an enemy. Peter was too much fun, nice to look at despite his taste or lack thereof in clothing. Oh, and Peter's mind was a fine, fine thing.

Neal never explained even to Moz that he liked to watch Peter undress, watched guiltily as Peter jerked off. He never admitted that he joined Peter in this more than once. There had to be some mystery after all.

The thing was that Peter was a good guy and Neal never expected to be a good guy or have one as a lover.

Loving Peter made Neal feel goofy. He wanted to paint a masterpiece, break up a major crime ring, or maybe fly in a cape and tights like Superman.

Loving Peter made Neal a strange mix of sappy, romantic, wanting to be protected, cherished and adored and at the same time, Neal wanted to show Peter how useful he could be, how brave, how resourceful.

Sadly, Neal realized now that perhaps it never was true love with Kate. He never felt this way.

OooOooO

Peter never realized he got a two for special until he met Mr. Haversham. He had bargained for Neal, but having Neal meant having Moz. He liked Moz even if he felt a sting of jealousy. Moz was closer to Neal than Kate had been. Peter didn't want to ask if the friendship was 'with benefits'. He understood that Neal had his own ideas about the nature of sex and romance. His constant flirtation meant nothing. It was a game as he said it was. It was fun for him.

Love however was something that Neal took seriously. He was generous at love as Peter knew. Although the love between Moz and Neal was not sexual for the most part, Neal was affectionate. If Moz wanted, Neal would have given.

Moz showed up at the hotel before the clothes arrived. He went straight to the liquor cabinet and helped himself to a drink. "You okay, Neal?"

"I'm fine," Neal said.

"He's taking care of you?" Moz said, glancing at Peter.

"Yes, Moz," Neal said.

"I'm sorry," Moz said. "I knew but I didn't want to risk losing our friendship. I didn't think you would believe me."

Neal took a quick but deep breath, looked away as Moz hung his head, the glass in his hand nearly spilling.

"It's okay, Moz, I'm okay," Neal said, looking at Peter with an extraordinarily shy expression on his normally boldly expressive face.

"Moz, can you put it out that Nicholas Haldane is interested in some Grecian antiquities?"

"Yes, I can do that. You know that Kostantinos Drivas is dangerous, Burke?"

"I can take care of Neal," Peter assured.

"You better," Moz said. "I never thought he would be safer in prison."

"I told you that I would take care of him," Peter said. "I won't let him out of my sight. Go find Drivas. And Moz, watch yourself."

"That I always do," Moz said. "I'm not Neal."

After Moz left, Peter said, "The short guy loves you."

Neal didn't dissemble. He nodded and said, "Moz always has. He was before Kate. He was before anyone."

"Tell me someday?" Peter said.

"I will," Neal said. "Now, let's go find you some suitable camouflage and talk about your role."

"Any excuse to dress me?" Peter said.

"I prefer to undress you," Neal said.

"Any chance that Nicholas Haldane is the type to sleep with the help?"

"Oh, only in a perverted sex slave type of way," Neal said, smiling seductively.

"Take me, Master," Peter said. Suddenly sex games sounded a hell of a lot more fun than his beloved baseball.

OooOooO

Sex games aside, there was nothing much to do but study Kostantinos Drivas. It wasn't a pleasant hobby. Drivas was a brutal bastard, but smart. He grew up in the middle of skirmishes and feuds in a village so poor that unwanted infants were still exposed on hills for the wild dogs to eat. To survive, you had to become like a feral dog and Drivas not only survived, but flourished.

Peter watched the little frown on Neal's forehead grow bigger as he read how Drivas killed a young husband who worked for him to keep him silent about the location of the cache of antiquities and to take the pretty wife for his own. Drivas still kept the woman although he had other mistresses. He had married her and she bore him children.

The picture Neal focused on was of the woman holding a child, the entire side of her face swollen, her face full with pain and grief.

"Our mission is to put Drivas in prison, Neal, not rescue the damsel," Peter reminded.

Catching the sullen look, Peter found it working too well on him. He knew if he ever gave into Neal that it would be hard not to crumble and give him everything. He had been that way for El too. "If she wants out, she can testify against him. We could get her protection."

"It would have to be here," Neal said. "Greece is too full of people who either belong to Drivas or who hate him. Can you offer Kalika Drivas a deal?"

Neal's eyes begged Peter and Peter felt as if he really could leap tall buildings. He nodded. "I'll talk to Hughes."

Neal beamed.

When Moz knocked on the door, Peter was so busy kissing the smile off Neal's face that he didn't want to answer. He tore himself away and both he and Neal straightened their clothing, tried for game faces.

Moz knew though. He shook his head and said, "Love, love, it's a distraction. I put the word out. From what I can tell, Haldane is not compromised as yet. You can use him."

"Good," Neal said.

Peter saw the wheels turning, the sharpness of Neal's mind glomming onto the chase. The only thing better than the pursuit of Neal was running beside him in the chase.

OooOooO

The contact came through Moz. Drivas was interested in buying, but not willing to meet with him at Neal's hotel suite. Peter had no problem looking menacing this time. He needed nothing but the knowledge that he and Neal would be in a dangerous situation.

Peter had his cell phone in his hand when El called. He felt that familiar eagerness to hear her voice even after reminding himself that he had betrayed her.

"I just wanted to talk to you," El said. "You weren't in the office."

"I'll be out of touch for a few days. Neal and I are undercover," Peter said.

"Oh no. Peter, I hate that. I suppose it is dangerous or you wouldn't be undercover," El remarked. "Why do they keep doing that to Neal? I thought a consultant consulted not risked his neck continuously in the field."

"The thing is that most FBI agents don't have identities already well established that we can use," Peter said.

"I don't understand how you can love him and let him go into danger," El said. Then sadly, "Or that's why you are with him instead of me. You love that he can work with you so you can have it all, your damned work and a lover too."

"I am so sorry, El," Peter said. She was right though. El as always put it right on the line.

Peter Burke thought he was a terrible man, a wicked evil man, because he should not be so happy to be going into danger with Neal.

OooOooO

Drivas had rented a houseboat; it was isolated and self contained, which suited the man. It was a floating home, without a hull or motor, needing to be towed when it had to be moved. Peter had pulled the specifics, finding it was a three- bedroom, two-bath monstrosity. The wife and her three kids, one of them her daughter by her first husband, occupied one of the bedrooms. Drivas had the biggest bedroom to himself. His entourage of thugs, wild half literate outlaws men from the hills of Greece, occupied the third bedroom.

Armed to his teeth, Peter followed Neal aboard, withstanding attempts to separate him or take his weapons. Neal turned to him, put a hand on Peter's shoulder and said, "This is part of me. If you want my money, leave him alone."

Drivas nodded. In person, what is surprising was that Drivas was small. He was much shorter than Neal although taller than Moz. His torso was long; it was his legs that take inches from his height. They were widely bowed from near fatal rickets in his youth. Peter knew a Christian missionary saved Drivas' life and gave him the education which allowed him to claw his way to the top.

Most of Drivas' hair was pitch-black, but now it was shot through with gray. His eyes were obsidian. His skin was walnut brown. A knife scar puckered down his right cheek from lower eye socket nearly to his chin. His cheeks were blades beneath the heavy ceases that further darken his eyes and the cheeks were sunken below. Several teeth were missing ... the price of constant fighting and poor nutrition. His mustache was trimmed, but was thick, flecked with gray that only enhanced his display of virile power.

In contrast to Drivas' rugged looks, his suit was expensive and his nails were beautifully manicured. His coarse black hair was styled into a sort of sculptured arrangement of ridges and waves. His shoes were more expensive looking than Neal and Neal's shoes were Prada.

The body guards that flanked Drivas looked as uncomfortable as Peter in their tailored suits. They flaunted their weapons in plain sight, eyeing Neal with a certain air of wolves waiting for a bloody treat.

Neal was all cool sophistication dealing with Drivas. He sat as if he was a prince in his throne room, radiating control and wealth. If Drivas was brute power, Neal was the rapier of intellect.

"You have my financial reports," Neal said.

"Yeah, I have them," Drivas said. His English was excellent, marred only by a hint of liquidness about the vowels. "Not much activity over the last few years."

"I have been...indisposed," Neal said. "Out of touch."

"Locked up?" Drivas said. "Not under your name though."

"Heavens no," Neal said. "A romantic interlude. Alas, gone sour."

"You want her, him back?" Drivas said. "I can do that for you."

"No," Neal said, "it was an idle error and now I want back in the game."

"We eat now," Drivas said. "Break bread. It's a Greek thing. You don't do business unless you break bread. I got this step daughter. She's fourteen. Old enough. You might like her."

Peter gave Neal credit for not flickering an eye at being offered a young girl. Neal lazily flicked a hand toward Peter and said, "Women are such complications. I have a taste now for simpler things."

Peter would get Neal later for that remark.

"Like I said, we eat now. You can see Elena at dinner."

OooOooO

Peter's role at dinner was not only to stand protectively behind Neal, but to taste his food. Drivas accepted that without comment. He probably would have thought less of Neal if he had failed to have his body guard serve as a taster.

It was a public intimacy to take small spoonfuls of Neal's food and to sip from the glass of resin rich Greek wine. Drivas turned his glass aside from where his taster sipped. Neal, with a flicker of his eyes, put his mouth exactly over where Peter had drunk. Drivas watched them with something akin to approval in his eyes. He was primitive beneath the designer clothing and the manicured nails. He looked at Peter in a calculating fashion, wanting what Neal had because another man obviously had it.

The wife and oldest daughter entered. They were both dressed in black frocks with pearls at their necks. The wife was only twenty eight. Kalika Drivas had been a bride at fourteen and a mother before the year was out. She was a classic Greek beauty, a long nose, dark large eyes, olive complexion, oval face that belonged on a cameo. Her eyes were surrounded by thick lashes that trembled shyly when anyone met her eyes. Her daughter whose hand she held when they entered the room was her mirror image. Peter could see she felt exposed in the too grown up frock. She belonged in cute jeans and sparkly tee shirts, snapping gum and chatting on the cell phone with friends. Peter wanted to rescue them both too. Neal's ideals were viral.

It was bearable to stand here, even knowing that the odds were against them if it came down to a physical confrontation. Peter realized that he was going to have a problem sending Neal into these situations alone and he wasn't always going to be able to play body guard. It was going to hurt to know Neal was in danger.

Neal dipped his bread in olive oil, his expression untroubled. He ignored the daughter's frightened glances his way. Sipping wine, eating the spicy food with his usual neatness, Neal might have been having lunch with Peter any ordinary office day.

Finished, Drivas dismissed his wife and step daughter. Both of them wore bruises. Peter saw Neal take stock of that. The rage didn't show in his face, but Peter knew Neal heart-deep now. He could see it.

OooOooO

It was relief to step from the small motor boat to dry land, where Moz waited in chauffeur's uniform. Moz looked relieved to see Neal also, not so happy about Peter.

As soon as they were on the road, Neal said, "If we don't get Drivas, I'm going to pay someone to get the wife and children out."

"I might let you," Peter said. "We have to play this cool," Peter added.

"I know that," Neal said. "He's beating them. You saw the bruises."

"I saw, but we use our smarts not our sense of justice," Peter replied.

Neal rolled his eyes. He opened his expensive, complicated cell phone with its wireless internet connection. He smiled, not his usual blind them-with-charm smile or the sweet engaging smile he showed to Peter. It was a scalpel of a smile. After scanning a few moments, Neal said, "He's biting. He sees the money in the account I gave him."

"Good," Peter said. "Neal, I shouldn't have to tell you to take care."

"I'm always careful," Neal said, big blue eyes glowing.

Moz made a sound equally composed of sob and laugh. Peter sympathized.

OooOooO

The meet was set in international waters, far from shore, which meant they could make no mistakes. It also meant that they had to work with Interpol. Thank god not with Mai Lin.

First they had to verify that the Grecian antiquities were real. This time both of them were strip searched, made to change into garments Drivas provided. Both of them had tracking devices in their bodies. Short range but coast guard boats waited nearby as backup.

Neal made a moue of disgust at the clothing provided, but showed no uneasiness. He was relaxed, confident as if strolling aboard the yacht was to attend some high society party. Peter followed. Without his gun, there was nothing much he could do to protect Neal except throw himself between his lover and a bullet, which he would do if had to do it.

"Your buyers will make you a rich man," Drivas said.

"I am already rich," Neal said, wearing that aloof contemptuous expression that always made Peter want to put him over a knee and spank him contrite.

"There's no such thing as too rich," Drivas said, leading the way into a small state room.

Artifacts were displayed on the bed and dresser. Neal donned a pair of curator's gloves to examine them. Peter saw some ancient coins, most common metal not gold. There were some pottery shards and fragments of jewelry. It looked like the type of things found in middens rather than the type of thing found in tombs or preserved by some accident intact.

Neal said, "So now we have seen what you found in the trash, where's the real thing?"

"You want something for more discriminating tastes?" Drivas said.

"What I am seeing indicates a waste of my time," Neal said.

"All right, all right," Drivas said. "Can't blame a man for trying."

Now they followed Drivas into the larger room on the yacht. The furniture has been moved aside for riches. There was a deep red vase with a frieze of Olympic athletes in iconic pornography, a collar of gold was inset with roughly faceted emeralds, and on a cushion stood a beautifully intact krater, a vessel for serving wine. The krater's handle was a snarling panther in honor of Bacchus. Neal was most taken by the krater. His blue eyes lit with gleeful greed. Peter winced. He would have to watch Neal closely around the small easily palmed krater.

"Are you satisfied?" Drivas asked.

"In a moment,' Neal said, pulling out a jeweler's loupe. He examined each artifact carefully.

"Now I'm satisfied," Neal said.

To Peter's surprise, there were no slipups. They were allowed to leave the yacht. They sat silently as the power boat brought them back to dock and they were given back their clothing. Drivas' man let them walk away safely toward where Moz waited with the limo that Peter carefully did not ask Neal about.

"His wife and the step daughter might be witnesses," Neal said.

"I'll see what I can do," Peter said. He gazed at Neal and said, "I really mean I will see what I can do as in give me a chance to work with this."

"Drivas might kill them," Neal said. "Or he might be...the way he has that little girl dressed gives me trepidations."

Peter had noticed too and it bothered him as much as it bothered Neal.

"So go get the kid," Moz said, kibitzing from the driver's seat.

"Yeah," Neal said.

"No," Peter replied. "No, absolutely, I will not be involved in that."

 

OooOooO

"I'm not doing this," Peter said. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Clad in black from stocking hat to black boots, Moz looked smaller than ever, a sort of Goth dwarf. "That's the way it is with Neal. Just call me Sancho Panza."

As it turned out, the antiquities were recovered but Drivas slipped away. The house boat was still in the harbor and the younger children were seen on deck briefly.

The two silent men who turned up to help did not introduce themselves. One was a very strongly built man with African tribal markings on his face. The other was Eurasian. He was well built and had blue eyes in a golden complexion. They were pros, Peter was sure of that, and not just of the white collar criminal variety. The old adage about sleeping with dogs came to mind. Peter could feel the fleas already.

Neal looked at the pair and said, "The idea is we go in, we go out. There are two small children, a boy and a girl, a teenager, and the mother. We get them out as quietly as we can."

Taking out the map he had drawn of the house boat, Neal pointed to the room where he believed the family was being kept. "The mother and the daughter want out."

"Boy is ten," the Eurasian man said. "He may want to stay with his father."

"At eleven, he may be expected to start learning the family business," Neal said.

"Hi is right," the African man remarked. "Sons identify with fathers."

"All the more reason why we should get him out," Neal said.

"We have sleep darts," the man called Hi said.

"What do I call you," Peter asked the larger man of the pair.

"Call me Mister," the man growled. "I'm here for Neal. That doesn't mean I like working with a FBI agent."

The chuckle was from Moz, but Neal smirked. Peter sighed and went over his equipment to cover his irritation. He was carrying. The mission was semi official, labeled reconnaissance. Peter had not mentioned the plan to get the family out. He would have to come out with an explanation once they were safe. He made sure they had back up.

The swift silent boat that they boarded would have cost a mint. Again, Peter did not ask who owned it. Perhaps he would have asked before he and Neal became lovers, but he would still have used it. He knew he would have. Neal was shorthand for problems solved.

'Call Me Mister' took out the guard silently. Peter checked for a pulse before using plastic cuffs to secure the guy at wrists and ankles.

Hi silently wafted away. A moment later a thud sounded. Peter felt a moment of panic as he realized Neal was missing. He ran toward the room where the family slept. Neal emerged with the little boy kicking and fighting him. The two mercenaries ... if that was what they were had been right. Kostantinos Drivas, the second, was not pleased to be removed from his father. Kalika, his mother, followed behind Neal. "Kost, please, please, you know how unhappy we are."

"I'm happy," Kost shouted, drumming so hard with fists and feet that Neal staggered.

Peter rushed forward to take the kid away from Neal. The boy fought him even harder. "Get in the boat, get in the boat,' Peter directed.

The younger girl was only five, very adorable. She clung to her mother who turned to Peter with wide eyes and said, "Thank you, thank you."

"Yeah, fine, just get in the boat," Peter said. He saw two motor boats approaching rapidly. The first guy was fighting loose from his bracelets. This was not looking like a smooth operation any longer.

The children and the mother huddled aboard the boat. Peter uttered a sigh of relief as Neal climbed aboard. They started to pull away from the house boat when Kost, the little boy, leaped out of his mother's grip, scrabbled for the edge of the deck and managed to get aboard.

Neal went after the boy. Of course, Peter followed Neal. The kid led them a merry chase, but Neal was very fast and managed to collar the boy just as the first motor boat tethered to the house boat. There was an explosion. The motor boat shot up in flames, screams coming from the men aboard.

Dragging the kid, Neal handed the boy to Hi as Peter shot at ... shot one of the men who had landed on the opposite side of the house boat. "Get in the boat, Neal!" Peter yelled.

"Not without you," Neal shouted back.

"I'm coming," Peter said, pegging another shot. Neal climbed into the boat and Peter fired again before he started to climb down.

A moment later, Peter was looking up at Drivas who aimed directly at Neal. Peter fired. Drivas fired. The speed boat rocked and Peter went over the side. The water was achingly cold. Peter's head thumped against the side of the boat. He felt sick, dizzy, and then ... nothing.

OooOooO

When Peter next woke, he was dimly aware of something bumping against him in the water. He dazedly opened his eyes, ignoring the red and purple bursts when he did. The object was Neal floating face down. He could still hear gunfire, a lot of it. Despite the numbness from the cold, Peter managed to get his hands on Neal, turning him over. Neal coughed when Peter did so he was alive. Peter held on as Neal was sinking, no body fat to keep him buoyant.

In the dim light, Peter paddled, keeping Neal close. He would not let go. He would never let go of Neal.

Now hands were reaching for them. Peter sank as he shoved Neal toward the hands. Even if it was Drivas, they had to get out of the water.

Big hands reached for Peter. It was "Mister". Peter felt himself pressed down. Hi and Mister were exchanging fire with men on the house boat. Suddenly lights shone from all around them. Voices from loud speakers yelled, "Harbor Patrol" "Coast Guard" "Interpol"

Safe. They were safe, but Moz was yelling at him. "You fucking bastard...you asshole. You got him shot. You got him shot. You've killed him."

And Peter fell down into darkness, his hands reaching helplessly for his Neal.

OooOooO

Waking up was pain. Neal couldn't remember where he was, how he got here. Perhaps he was in hell or maybe it was limbo. It made sense that Moz was here even so. Moz would follow him anywhere.

His chest hurt terribly. Neal's throat was raw and aching. He supposed that meant that he had a tube in his throat. Moz was sleeping with him. No, Moz is just asleep in a chair, his head resting on his arm which encroached on Neal's pillow.

"My Moz," Neal said, reaching to put his hand on his friend's head.

"You're awake," Moz said, his defenses down. He wiped at his eyes.

"Guess so," Neal said, not liking the sound of his voice, which sounded gritty, unused, and like it hurt to talk. It did.

"Peter?" Neal asked.

"Over here," said a voice which might be Peter's if he had a very bad cold.

Neal tried to move but the pain told him that that was not a good idea. "Are you okay, Peter?"

El's voice came a moment later. "Peter, you should not be getting up. You're not ready."

"Help me," Peter said.

"You are a stubborn man," El said.

Neal saw them come lurching to him. Moz cleared the chair but moved to sit at the foot of Neal's bed. Peter looked like shit even through love-blinded eyes.

"Gonna stay awake this time?" Peter asked after almost falling into the chair.

"Don't remember being awake before," Neal admitted. "I remember handing the boy to Hi. I remember gunshots. Moz was mad at you."

"Moz is still mad," Moz said.

"It was my idea," Neal argued.

"Yeah, but Burke is supposed to have some common sense. What use is he if he just dives into trouble with you?"

"I'd tell you but I am pretty sure you don't want to hear," Neal said.

Moz covered his ears, which made Neal laugh. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to not laugh. It just hurt.

El stood behind Peter, one hand on his shoulder. Neal saw that, swallowed his woes, and shut his eyes.

Softly, El said, "Neal, look at us."

He had too much respect for her to ignore it. As he fell in love with Peter, Neal fell into friendship with El. El trusted him. Maybe she should not have done so, but it was offered to him even knowing who and what he was, a conman. Slowly, Neal opened his eyes, expecting to see heart break.

"I love Peter," El said. "I love you, Neal. You're my friend, close to my heart, someone I have longed to protect."

"I hurt you," Neal said.

Eyes bright, El wiped a tear away. Her voice sounded thick as she said, "Yes, you did, honey, but we're family. You can't change that even when things hurt."

"You know how I said that I had to get a place to cover for us?" Peter said.

Neal did. Neal did not like the thought. He longed for a world where Peter and he could be just that, Peter and Neal in love. Neal could run away from his life, but Peter was defined by his work. Neal would not take that from him. He had resigned himself to having to spend some nights apart from his beloved.

"He can move back home, officially, get his mail there, stay when he needs to," El said. "I'll keep him for you, Neal. Can you trust me to do that?"

"I have always trusted you," Neal said and it was true. He had trusted her with all of his heart, more so than he have ever trusted Kate, in a different way than he trusted Moz. El was someone he could trust and love in a way unlike the way he trusted Peter, with terror soul deep because Peter could hurt him as Kate did. El he loved as he loved Moz except with the addition of loving her strength as he cherished Moz's weaknesses. Trusting Peter ... loving Peter, and being wrong would destroy him and Neal was not so sure he had what it took to rebuild himself one more time.

"Then trust me," El said softly. "Trust me that I will keep you both in my heart."

"You're going to love someone again," Peter said to El.

"I will, someday, someday, not soon..."

"You could just love Peter," Neal said.

Sighing, El said, "I could, but maybe I want what I could never have, a man who would come home on time, that I would not have to share with work and then share with work and you. Let me find myself, Neal. Whatever happens, I'll be your friend; I will keep loving Peter because I don't know any other way to be."

It made Neal, weak and befuddled as he was, want to weep. He thought that El was wrong about herself. That El was not thinking outside the box but was bowing to what the world thought she knew.

And Neal's tears escaped beyond his control.

Peter's words were pure Peter. "Don't cry, Neal. Oh, please don't cry. You know I can't stand it when people cry."

So Neal wiped off the tears and stuffed his sorrow deep inside him.

Peter's hand stroked Neal's face over and over as if wanting to memorize every inch of Neal's face. "I didn't keep you safe. I couldn't keep you safe."

A cobweb of memory. The cold water, the wound just starting to hurt after the shock faded. Peter held him afloat. Peter swam, holding Neal's head against his chest as if he would have kept him there forever if he had to.

"You did," Neal said. "I remember you holding me in the water. I remember."

Peter took Neal's hand, bowed his head over it, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.  
"I can't lose you. I won't lose you."

Neal hoped that it was true.

But now Neal was tired and his body was pulling him into sleep. His busy mind needed one more thing.

"Kalika, Elena? Rizpah and Kost?" Neal asked, asking about Kostantinos' family that they had rescued or at least, he hoped they had.

"All safe," Peter said. "I got them into witness protection. Kalika and Elena both saw Kostantinos murder two men. Kalika saw her husband murdered although that was not on United States soil. However, he has killed two associates since coming here. We have him, murder, money laundering, black market antiquities, oh, we can put him away for the rest of his life." Peter grinned that predatory smile which used to frighten and excite Neal when it was about him.

"And his family will be free of him, good," Neal said.

Neal saw it in Peter's face, that despite his impatience at Neal's mores which were simpler ones than Peter subscribed to, that Peter was proud of him for caring more about people than things.

In this world, there were many pleasures. Neal had tasted them. With Kate, he had wanted to drink deep of love, but the wine was bitter and the bottle was empty.

Peter was imperfect, impatient, found it hard to give into the tenderness that was his center. Peter was strong, good, and kind. Peter loved Neal for all Neal's graces, for all of Neal's flaws. Peter loved Neal in the elegance of his designer suits and the wild beauty of his naked skin. Loving Peter, Neal wanted to be more than he was. He wanted to conquer mountains, get the bad guys, rescue damsels and children. Loving Peter made Neal a better man.

At the center of things, Neal knew that love was the most important thing. He wanted it so much that he made it up when he had not found the reality.

Peter Burke was real. Peter Burke loved him.

In finding each other, Neal lost Kate. Peter lost Elizabeth as a wife but not as his friend.

Neal knew that he would do anything for Peter. He would give his life. The band on his ankle was nothing compared to the ties that love created, but those bindings would not come off in three and a half years. They were forever.

The end


End file.
